


You Leave a Bad Taste in My Mouth

by chvchxng



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adultery, Cheating, Christmas, F/M, Fluff, Tumblr, Yule Ball, sex mention
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-13
Updated: 2017-05-25
Packaged: 2018-10-03 19:08:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10255436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chvchxng/pseuds/chvchxng
Summary: A collection of one-shots about Harry Potter and Pansy Parkinson. (Most likely from my Tumblr.) HP/PP FORMERLY KNOWN AS "WEATHER" ON FF.NET.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> AN: This is the first fic I've ever written for Hansy. It's rough, my style has changed, and the next chapter is better. Promise. You can leave a comment for criticism or if you genuinely think I deserve one.

**Chapter** 1:

* * *

Cold.

The first time they saw each other was cold.

It had been snowing for three days, temperatures were well below freezing and you would have to be mad to go for a walk in this weather. But twenty-two-year-old Pansy Parkinson was of course, mad. 

With flushed cheeks and a warm cup of tea, she had been walking towards the park across the street from her apartment complex. There was a frozen lake where parents took their children to ice skate on. She found it oddly comforting to walk by and sip a hot tea, hearing the toddlers giggling and playing. She'd never taken a liking to children in the past, but now they reminded her of a time when life was simple. When she was seven, and she and Draco would play in the winter snow, making snowmen and having snowball fights for hours on end. 

Pansy lived a life she'd never expected to experience. She wasn't like she used to be. She'd traded her demeaning view on muggles for a more positive outlook on things, and people, she had never met. Hoping that one day those she'd hurt in the past could forgive her for the mistakes she'd made. 

No, Ms. Parkinson was not the same person she once was. In fact, she admitted to being embarrassed about her former self. Never out loud, of course, but it didn't need to be said. Occasionally she would take a trip back home and pass by Draco's apothecary, making eye contact with the blonde inside, his seemingly permanent scowl was gone and had been replaced with kind eyes and a welcoming smile. Although she never went inside, she could tell things had changed. 

"What the fuck!" Pansy shouted as scalding hot tea splashed onto her feet, maybe things hadn't changed as much as she'd thought. She could feel her wallet burning, just like the hot drink all over her brand new black leather boots. 

You see, the young lady was always dressed to impress, with a new article of clothing once a week. "You never know who you might encounter. Maybe some handsome Prince will come and sweep me off my feet." Was what she had told the old woman at the register of her local tea shop when asked about her exquisite sense of style. 

Today her nails were perfectly manicured with glossy black varnish and a dark red lip to match. The warm gray fur coat she wore hid a tight-fitting burgundy jumper, adorned with little silver sequins intricately woven through the thread of the collar. Dark hair fell flat against her shoulders, flowing down to the top of her breasts, while muddy brown eyes stared accusingly at the green eyed man in front of her. 

The pale individual ahead of her panicked, "Oh God, I'm so sorry." His black hair was messy and fell into his eyes as he knelt down to pick up the napkin she'd dropped. Thick eyebrows furrowed together while he profusely mumbled apologies. 

The man had laugh lines surrounding his lively green eyes and stubble on his jaw. A red beanie sat on the top of his head, paired with a white T-shirt, worn black blazer, and blue jeans. "Are you joking?" Pansy thought. 

She rolled her eyes at the boy and mumbled, "For God's sake," and looked down at the mass of ink toned hair with an annoyed gaze. "You can stop with the apologies, Potter. I'm not gonna hurt you." Her hand went to her hip as her head cocked to the side. A chuckle escaped her lips whilst the boy who lived blushed and rose from the ground, shoving his hands back in his pockets while looking up to see who he had just run into. 

"Parkinson?" He inquired, his shellshocked facial expression was enough to coax a snort from Pansy's throat. 

"Yeah, it would seem so." She replied, nodding politely.


	2. For the Greater Good

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angsty, cheating, yet extremely lovely fluff one-shot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: If you want more fics from me then go to my Tumblr, I am way more active on there and take requests. The reason this one has a weird format for is because I write in bullets on Tumblr, which is where this is from. I'm not sure if this one is done yet, so there may or may not be a part two to this. (My Tumblr is the same as my username.)
> 
> Pansy's dialogue is in bold, Harry's is in italic, the creepy drunk guy is normal.

**Chapter 2: For the Greater Good**

* * *

Her hands were rough, the way they should be.

The way he liked them.

Moonlight beamed through cotton drapes and filled the room with a certain aura he couldn't describe. He felt steady breaths on his neck, his legs entangled with hers. Harry's hand softly played with her hair whilst the other kept Pansy's head propped on his shoulder.

They weren't supposed to happen this way.

They weren't supposed to happen at all, and they were ignorant to think they're late nights and subtle looks would go unnoticed. He had a fiancé, and the whole wizarding world was waiting for the moment where Harry Potter promised himself to someone for life, but she had him.

She had him hooked.

He was hooked on the smell of cigarette smoke in her hair and the way she smirked when they saw each other in public. He loved how easily the skin of her neck bruised and the scratches she carved into his back when she'd had a rough day. Everything about her made him feel like fire, and no matter how many times he tried to leave, to go home and marry the woman he's expected to be with. Regardless of the fights they'd had, he couldn't stay away.

**"Go back to your girlfriend, Potter. I bet she misses you."**

_"What if I don't want to go back."_

**"Sometimes we do things we don't like."**

_"Why would you do something you don't like?"_

**"Why do purebloods marry purebloods?"**

**"For the greater good."**

* * *

It was the day.

Not a good one, in his opinion.

In four hours he would have a Mrs. Potter.

She was shy and quiet. She wore plain light colors and believed swearing wasn't ladylike. Her breath always smelled like mint and her skin was perfectly tanned without blemishes.

This bothered harry like it never had before.

He wanted pale, marked skin, hips that had been bruised by his hands, lips tainted by nicotine and whiskey…

Harry wanted a woman his friends and family would never accept. He wanted someone he wasn't supposed to accept.

She'd tried to turn him over to Tom during the battle. It all seemed so trivial, now.

What's the point in hating someone who said things out of fear. Who screamed words of hatred against others because they were tired of watching people die. She was someone who shouldn't have to remember what a corpse looks like. To him, Pansy was the strongest woman he's met.

She's fierce and unapologetically bad. She'll say "I love you" and laugh in your face when you find her with another man. She's cynical and cold to the touch. For fuck's sake, her name is a _flower_. A flower Shakespeare stated could be used in a love potion. Harry knew he was right.

Every time he saw her, his vision became cloudy and he heard nothing but the clicking of her heels against the ministry's concrete floors. Her laugh resembled that of innocence and joy, but he knew she was full of arrogance and hatred.

_"You're a right bitch, you know that right."_

**"And you're too much of a pussy to leave your fiancé."**

_"You're the one who told me to stay."_

**"I told you she might be missing you. I never said I didn't want to see you again."**

_"Is that why I'm fucking you in the closet of a chapel the morning of my wedding?"_

**"Exactly. You need me."**

He hated how right she was.

* * *

She rocked her hips from side to side, letting her arms wrap around his neck.

A strange man she didn't know, in a strange place she didn't care for, with a strange drink that tasted of cough syrup and whiskey.

"Oi, what happened to you, love?"

**"I'm not in the mood, go back to the bar."**

"What if I don't want to go back-"

Pansy stopped breathing for a moment.

_"What if I don't want to go back?"_

His voice was quiet yet fierce as it bounced through her head, repeating itself. Mocking her.

She would never forget his face.

His messy hair fell in front of the scar he so desperately tried to hide, head turned to look at her as she went to get back into bed. His expression... she'd never seen someone so vulnerable before.

Pansy never wanted him to leave, she only knew he should.

She wasn't a good person, she wasn't perfect. She could never be the platinum blonde trophy wife Harry now had, she refused to be that. She refused to be the woman who stayed silent, the woman whose job was her children, she refused to let her parents decide whom she married because of the money, she refused to let a marriage destroy her life. She never knew who she would become as an impressionable adolescent blood purist, mocking those less fortunate souls who dared to speak to her.

She only knew this, Pansy Parkinson would never be an obedient housewife, and Harry wouldn't dare treat her that way. It's why she lo-

It's why she lov-

No.

This was not supposed to happen.

The whole time she'd been grinding on another man, thinking about all the reasons she cared so dearly for the one she drove away, he was off being married. It bothered her. So much so that she might just love him.

She might love the way his sweats always seemed to sit too low on his hips, the way his skin always smelled vaguely of her lavender body wash when they showered together, how he'd zip the back of her dress when they snuck out to muggle London, when he would never let her open her own door, and hell, even the light kiss they'd share after a night of unforgettable sin was something she ached for.

**"Get your shit together. Have a drink. Apologize to that nice man. Let him take you home."** She'd escaped to the bathroom through a crowd of drunk muggles to flee from the creep at the bar.

The music was blasting, Pansy could feel it in her feet. Her hair bounced wildly as she danced around with the same guy from earlier, he'd barely pulled her body closer to his as a once familiar voice send chills up her spine. _"Oi, Parkinson!"_

**"You've got a wife now, Potter! Go home!"**

_"I'm tired of being told how to feel, Pansy!"_

She'd pushed the drunken blonde aside and shoved her outrageous lover into the parking lot.

**"I haven't been telling you how to feel, Potter!"**

_"Then why are you trying to drive me away?"_

**"Because I'm not good for you!"**

_"You're perfect for me!"_

**"Then why the hell did you stay with her? Why the hell would you marry her? If I'm so perfect for you then why the actual fuck did you not leave her?"** Pansy was shouting at him, tears threatening to spill from her eyes.

Harry didn't move, he only had one answer. _"I would never have become her husband if I knew I could've been yours."_


	3. Christmas in March

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short proposal fic based on Harry's love of Christmas music, because I am convinced that he does, and Pansy's hatred for it.

“I really can’t stay…” Harry sang, dancing around his bright kitchen in nothing but boxers, socks, and an old muggle band T-shirt.

He rushed over to the bathroom door, flinging it open to grab his girlfriend, Pansy’s, hands. “But baby it’s cold outside, come on dance with me!” Harry dragged her into the living room, sliding along the hardwood floor while she groaned for him to let go.

“Harry, it’s literally twenty degrees out in the middle of March. Stop. You know I hate Christmas music.” Pansy rolled her eyes as she pulled the black pajama pants she wore up and plopped down on the couch. Harry, quickly ran over and picked her up bridal-style while the radio changed songs. 

“Put. Me. Down!” Her voice was calm at first, almost deadly, and slowly grew to a shriek. Harry immediately tossed her onto the couch. He did a little twirl and began his serenade.

“But I still have one wish to make, a special one for you…” Harry quickly placed a glimmery, crimson bow on top of her head as he leaped next to Pansy, helping her up into a sitting position while he softly sang in her ear.

He knew it was the perfect moment. He pulled the velvet box out of his pocket and held it in from of her face. Harry grinned, and said, “So? What do you think?”

Pansy gaped at him, her annoyed expression had shifted to me of shock. “I think… I think you need better pick-up lines.”

“What?” Harry felt his heart fall towards his stomach.

“I think you’re an annoying, self-absorbed prick. I think you’re the most extra person I’ve ever met. I also think you should stop pretending I’m your Christmas present because it’s fucking March. But… I think I’m okay with that.” She leaned forward and snatched the gleaming silver ring from the box, acting as if she only cared about the massive set of diamonds she would wear every day.

“You said to stop calling you my Christmas present because it’s March. Does that mean I can call you that in December?” Harry smiled cheekily, showing off the lines near his eyes. He was thrilled she said yes, but knew where this would go if he played along.

She slowly raised her head, looking him in the eye. “No, stop objectifying me. It’s misogynistic.” Pansy stated, climbing into his lap with a sarcastic gleam in her eyes.

Harry wrapped one arm around her waist, letting the other play with her short, black hair. “Pansy, it’s hard to believe you don’t like being called that if you wink at me.” She turned around to straddle his thighs, giving him a glare and quick a kiss on the cheek.

“What if I don’t want you to know?” She fiddled with the tag on his shirt. “It’s fun to keep you guessing.”

He pulled her closer to his chest, not bothering to give a playful respond, and smelled the rose shampoo she used. “I love you.”

Pansy let him lean in and kiss her. Noticing the stubble on his face, she made a silent reminder to get Harry to shave after the morning was up.


	4. The Yule Ball: Hansy Edition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Harry and Pansy share a dance at the Yule Ball.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Feel free to leave a comment or kudos.

Potter couldn't ask her.

She was off limits. Off limits to anyone but Malfoy, that is.

She was always caught hanging on his arm or fawning over how "Magnificent his hair is in the moonlight..." was what she'd said as a measly first year.

Sometimes Harry would bring it up just to annoy her.

Once when strolling by the lake he'd spotted Parkinson studying under an oak tree. Her short black hair hung to just above her collarbones, messy and tucked behind her ears. A stranger would think her to have a heart of gold, but a peer would know her heart was made of nothing less than vulgarity and a rebellious streak that no one could beat.

Harry loved it.

Pansy hated it.

Just because she wasn't afraid to cuss out a seventh year when they were busy being an asshole didn't make her the mature one.

On the contrary, being portrayed as some sappy fourteen-year-old girl who's in love with someone she'll never have isn't fun either.

She had one tiny crush on Draco as a first year and no on could let it go.

Besides, Malfoy was too busy fussing over his hair and worrying about his daddy issues to be a possible sweetheart. Well, that and the fact he's obviously gay.

She and Draco were just friends, and they liked it that way.

Pansy snapped out of her thoughts and locked her eyes onto the potions textbook in her lap. She'd been trying to finish an essay on the many types of poison antidotes but had gotten lost in her own mind because of a certain distracting green-eyed boy.

Parkinson had noticed a few minutes ago but wanted to see how long he could hide his flushed cheeks every time she turned a page of her book. It seemed that Potter could stare for quite a long time.

It wasn't like she had feelings for him, she just...

Okay, but it was only for his appearance, despite that horrid haircut.

"He's him, and I'm me. I have standards." Pansy whispered to herself. Unbeknownst to her, Harry had started to walk over.

"Parkinson." He nodded to her as he took a seat on the grass next to the tree she sat at.

She jumped as her head shot up to see the same green eyes she was thinking about earlier and said. "You need something, Potter?"

His cheeks turned pink and he took a deep breath.

"Listen, um, I know we don't really talk because you're you and I'm me, but... Merlin this is so hard-"

Pansy rolled her eyes and huffed, "Get on with it."

"Okay, um, most of the other girls here already have dates and IwaswonderingifyouwantedtogototheballwithmebecauseIactuallykindoflikeyouand-" Harry didn't breath throughout his proposal.

She knew she couldn't say yes.

But for some reason, she did.

Over the course of the week, they'd practiced together the two had gotten closer. Well, more comfortable around one another.

They teased with witty banter and playful insults, but neither took it seriously.

It was now the night of the ball; Pansy was terrified. She stood in front of her mirror inspecting her hair, makeup, and dress like her life depended on it.

She finally decided she looked presentable and headed out for what she suspected to be one of the greatest and most horrifying nights of her existence.

She met Potter a few corridors away from the dungeons, to keep her escort a secret, although her whole world would end when she walked through those doors on the arm of Harry Potter.

The boy who lived nervously fiddled with the sleeve of his robes, and that oddly loose dark red bow tie around his neck. He felt as if he were going to puke.

He barely knew how to dance, and now he was going to waltz in front of almost fifty percent of Hogwarts, not including students from the other schools. He hated his stupid dress shoes and would have rather worn sneakers instead, but apparently it wasn't "appropriate," as Hermione had told him.

His muggle-born friend was the only one who knew he was bringing Pansy. She was quite shocked at first, thinking he had feelings for Cho Chang, but quickly accepted the bizarre idea of them together.

Soon, Harry heard footsteps coming from behind him.

It was Pansy, and he felt his face go red.

She wore a floor-length burgundy satin dress with jewels that covered the short sleeves and collar. Her hair was curled and had a matching diamond clip with her family crest engraved in the metal that held half her back. To finish off her look she adorned her brows with light makeup and her eyes liner and mascara, letting her lips wear a bold red lip that paired well with her gown.

"Um, hi." He murmured as his jaw dropped.

Pansy smirked, "Close your mouth, Potter. You never know what might fly in." She shuffled closer to his side and entwined their arms together.

Harry shut his mouth and smiled as they approached the doorway, ignoring the other Tri-Wizard Champions teasing comments.

Their entrance was nothing but perfect, yet petrifying all the same.

Everyone was staring at them, a lion and a serpent, standing far too close comfort, being each others'... date?

The Great Hall was silent until after what felt like years, the music began to play.

Pansy put one hand is his and one on his shoulder, whilst Harry placed his hand on her waist. And they began to dance.

They moved as one, eyes never leaving one another, a conversation spoken without words.

As the song continued, couples began to trickle onto the dancefloor, eventually filling up the hall.

Slowly, a smile crept onto Harry's face as he'd made eye contact with a furious Draco Malfoy and his famous scowl. His raven-haired partner furrowed her brows and, in a soft voice so unlike her inquired, "What are smiling at?"

He grinned wider, showing white teeth and smiles lines, all while looking down to hide his amusement and simply stated, "Malfoy."

As he gently twirled her, Parkinson caught a glimpse of her blond haired friend. She snorted.

This took Harry by surprise and he stumbled over her feet, causing Pansy to trip and fall.

As she flung her arms around his neck, he tried to grab her waist and pull them up but failed.

They collapsed on the floor. With Pansy beneath him and her head a mere inch away from his.

One would have thought they were going to share a kiss.

But no.

His green eyes wrinkled around the edges as he began to laugh uncontrollably, she eventually joined after staring at him with a look that said, "Are you joking?"

Pansy kicked him off of her as they cackled away, still on the floor, but trying to stand up.

Harry got a hold of himself and offered her a hand, she gratefully took it and once again joined him for another dance.


	5. The Wrong Side

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "AU: Pansy is the one throwing the wand to Harry when he falls out of Hagrid's arms, not Draco."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Sorry this is really short, it's an older drabble and it was an anon request from my Tumblr. Review, Favorite, or Follow if you want.

Pansy never expected to end up on the wrong side.

She was supposed to fight in the Dark Lord's name.

Not against him.

It wasn't her fault, you see.

She'd just fallen for the wrong person.

Some time at night in December of nineteen-ninety-six, Pansy Parkinson stood against the stone railing of the astronomy tower. Now, she knew she wasn't supposed to be there, or awake at that ungodly hour, but she couldn't rest. Not with all the stress of Draco's mood swings and his constant secrets. She knew what he was up to, planning to sneak Death Eaters into the castle, but it wasn't her place to stop him. If Pansy ever decided to turn him over to Dumbledore then, hell, she might as well write her will.

As she contemplated the meaning behind her family name and involvement with You-Know-Who, a door creaked open from behind her.

"Yes, yes, I know. Consider me gone, Professor." She stated, rolling her eyes whilst wrapping her black cloak around her body.

"Um, I'm not a professor, Parkinson."

And that's how it started.

Little meetings in the dead of night, holding hands under the oak tree by the lake, goodbye kisses with such sad stories behind them.

Harry Potter was not supposed to be her one.

But then again, did anything go as it was supposed to?

So there she was, standing beside a crying Hermione Granger and a confused Ron Weasley.

The ginger scowled at her as she stood staring at the lifeless corpse of the Boy-Who-Lived,

Her Boy-Who-Lived.

No,

Her Harry.

Almost as soon as Voldemort finished his villain's monolog, Pansy's brave raven-haired man jumped from Hagrid's arms.

She leaped to the ground, snatching his fallen wand and tossed it at his feet screaming, "Potter!"


	6. Three Kinds of Broken

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: I wrote a short Hansy drabble a few days ago and realized that it's actually good? Does anyone else write stuff and later notice that you love it? (I might continue it 'cause it seems like a good start to some angsty Hansy fic.)

There are three kinds of broken people.

The ones that are whole. Think of the glass dish your mother always used to bring food to other family member's homes with; it was never scratched nor marked come dinnertime. Those with family and friends who loved and protected them like they were the prized jewel of a wealthy family's collection.

The ones who are cracked. Like the old vase in your grandmother's china cabinet that she would yell at you for playing in when you were little. Those people with rough times in their life they fought so hard to get through. They fought harder than they ever had before to defeat their demons and in the end, they got lucky. They won.

Then, there are the ones who are shattered. They tried too hard to pick up the pieces of what was left of themselves, that they collapsed into dust. No one could save them. And they were left on the ground blow away in the wind.

Pansy was different.

She was the fourth kind of broken person in the world.

She was more than cracked, yet less than shattered glass on the pavement during an excruciatingly boiling summer. She was being slowly chipped away by those she cared about. They picked at the cracks on her skin, unknowingly damaging a pristine mask of beauty and grace. Every once in a while, when she felt herself falling apart, she would bend over and put herself back together. It felt as if she were a puzzle, but not one of those small, twenty piece cat puzzles. Pansy was a thousand piece abstract art puzzle someone found at their aunt's yard sale for fifty cents.

She laughed at the thought of herself deserving anything more than what she's got. A home with no family left. A world where she wasn't needed, nor wanted. And the little feeling in the center of her stomach, the one that burned when she felt his hands on her waist or his lips on her thighs. She was burning from the inside out. Her whole being felt like a fire that was begging to be put out. But no one dared.

To tear them away from each would be to destroy balance in the world. Imagine an ocean without water or a forest without trees. Sad, huh? It's dull and empty. She begged him to leave because there was a little voice in her head saying she couldn't deal with that feeling for the rest of her life. And it was fear. The fear of being loved. The fear of loving. Something she was never good at. Not like he was.

He threw himself at her at full speed. And the speed at which he came at her was terrifying. So she let him fall. But what she couldn't see was him grabbing her hand. And he pulled her down with him.

She was done for.

He put her back together just like she ripped him apart. It was a vicious cycle that neither one of them knew how to break. And sometimes, when they were at their best, gasping for air under tangled sheets, their skin gleaming with sweat, they decided they didn't want to.


	7. Venemum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: In this fic, Pansy is half Korean and Half White. I have also written her as pale and before you attack me, here's why. I wrote her that way because in Korea a recent beauty standard is to be pale, and because of her being, well, h e r, she would want to be updated on the latest trends. So yes, she is pale in this story. Please don't be mean to me I try to act tough, but I will cry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH MY GOD THIS TOOK SO LONG TO WRITE I AM SORRY! It's longer than normal so I hope you like it!
> 
> Prompt: Both Harry and Pansy are Aurors who have just been assigned a drug case. Long hours of stake outs and little to do but watch the flat across the street for evidence gives them plenty of time to talk.

"Stop hogging my side of the alley!" Harry whispered intensely as he glared across at his new partner, Pansy Parkinson.

Her hair, short like her, was a messy black bob that contrasted against the paleness of her skin and matched the color of her eyeliner. They'd been sent on a mission to watch the headquarters of one of the most elusive drug lords in the country, yet she still wore an inappropriate pair of heeled boots and so much _cakeup_ , sorry, makeup, that Harry wondered if she even had a face. Because what does she care about protocol? So what if she's seen by an extremely dangerous member of the drug cartel? As long as she looks pretty in her casket, he didn't think she cared. Oh, wait. He knew she didn't care.

* * *

_"Listen, Potter. Just 'cause you wanna die lookin' gross and old with wrinkles, doesn't mean we all do." Pansy continued reapplying her wine colored lipstick as she rolled her eyes at his statement. Why the hell would anyone want to look like a raisin with eye-holes on their death bed?_

_Harry stared in disbelief. "I don't want to die old. I want to die knowing I've lived a full life."_

* * *

They'd moved into a dingy London flat across the street from the old "shoe store" aka "Venemum" headquarters.

It was cheap and the grimy carpet had spots that made the apartment smell of cat pee. There weren't many windows, leaving the living room, kitchen, and bedroom dark at most times of the day. The walls were bare and a dull white; the only furnishings within the flat were those of necessity. A large bed in the bedroom, a single cotton couch and table with equipment in the living room, and food in the kitchen cupboards with a table and two chairs off to the side.

Pansy lay on the floor, whining out of boredom. "Are stakeouts usually this lackluster?"

"No, normally they're worse than this," Harry replied with a bit of sarcasm in his voice, eyes rolling as he heard a loud groaning noise from her side of the room. "Stop bitching, you're the one who got the couch."

She shot up from her spot on the carpet. He made her so angry. His voice, his face, his hideous fashion sense, and Merlin save her, his fucking cough WAS infuriating. It was all scraggly and soft, and he would always try to be quiet so he would spend ten minutes getting rid of that tickle in his throat. Half the time, she was sure he only did it to annoy her.

"Maybe I wouldn't be so bitchy if you would've bought two beds!" Pansy's tone became fierce and snappy.

"Maybe I would've bought two beds if you didn't declare the couch yours!" He huffed; fuck, she pissed him off.

Her makeup was perfect, her outfits were, her walk was perfect, the ratio between bitchiness and playful sarcasm was perfect - everything about her was perfect. The way snorted when she laughed too hard at his failures, oblivious to anyone else's opinion. When she smiled at herself in the mirror, old vanity from their school days peaking through, as usual. Even her name sounded perfect. Pansy Parkinson. Everything she did, was perfection.

And it made him furious.

"Don't act like you don't like it! Two nights ago you were practically getting off in your sleep - on **_my_** ass! Honestly, never thought Harry _"I lost my girlfriend to Neville Longbottom and now I never get laid"_ Potter would ever try and snag a Parkinson." Pansy shouted in annoyance and began chipping off the nail polish on her nails.

He jumped up from his spot at the table, knocking a few files off the edge. "You're such an entitled bitch!"

"Stop acting like it's not true." Pansy traced the old carpet with her nails, nonchalant as ever.

"It's not true! God, you're the most ignorant person I've ever met! Do you think of anyone but yourself? Or is it all about Pansy fucking Parkinson? And do you realize how much of a safety hazard those bloody nails are? We're on a mission for fuck's sake! So stop dressing like it's ladies' night down at the pub! Merlin, I can't fucking stand you!" Harry put his hands on his head and paced around the room.

Pansy didn't flinch as his fist slammed into the wall. She sighed and walked into the bedroom, keeping her composure.

* * *

She felt her back hit the wall, sliding into a comfortable sitting position on her bed; correction, their bed. It was a ludicrous idea to consider a Potter and a Parkinson sharing a bed, but there they were. Side by side, as far away from each other as possible, uttering snide remarks and degrading comments.

Harry held a muggle book in one hand, while the other grasped onto a dirty mug of reheated coffee. Moonlight filtered through cheap blinds and Pansy noticed the reflection on his glasses; he looked… peaceful. Normal. Ordinary. It was odd. Harry Potter was suddenly Harry, just Harry. The man he always wanted. The man she unexpectedly stopped ignoring.

He turned his head, raising an eyebrow as she gazed. "Is something interesting?" Harry inquired, quickly letting his eyes wander down to her chest, where the neckline of her shirt exposed the tops of her chest. He saw a light splattering of freckles on her breasts - they were obvious and contrasted with the paleness of her skin, he wasn't thinking about her in that way.

"Is something interesting about my tits, Potter?" She smirked, not bothering to look up from her wizarding fashion magazine. According to Korean beauty standards, her pale skin is all the rage. Guess she had her mother to thank, and possibly her addiction to reading up on skincare and guides to living wrinkle-free; maybe she's also a bit paranoid about her freckles as well.

"I-um, no. I just didn't know you had freckles is all." Harry stuttered, his cheeks flushing as he swiftly jumped off the bed and walked into the bathroom.

Standing in front of the mirror, he took a good look at himself. _Why was he blushing? Why was he staring? Was it a quick glance?_ It was _supposed to be a quick glance?_ He leaned down and splashed water on his face, deciding separate beds would've been a wonderful idea.

* * *

He was in the kitchen, preparing a meal for the two of them. A simple white bean soup with grilled chicken on the side. Easy. Harry'd been cooking since he was a child, and it'd become a pastime of his.

Pansy came in from the living room, rubbing her lower back in discomfort. "Fuck, that chair's broken, I felt wood digging into my back the whole time."

"Come here." Harry sighed, putting down the knife he'd used to chop onions with.

She made a face, "Um, why?" Her brows were furrowed and her hands landed on her hips.

He huffed loudly in frustration. "Just come here!"

Pansy shuffled over, dragging her feet along the once white linoleum that was now a dirty beige. Harry turned her body to where she wasn't facing him and placed his hands on her lower back. He moved in small circles, then moved lower towards her hips. She became rigid as his hands reached the hem of her shirt, and lifted it slightly. His fingertips were hot against Pansy's cold skin, and she quickly adjusted to the sensation.

This is odd. Harry knew it, but he liked how soft she felt against his calloused hands. He liked the sound of her light breathing and the way she leaned back into him as she calmed down, letting his hands wander farther down than they needed to.

Neither of them had been with anyone in a month. They knew they shouldn't. That it was wrong. He was Harry Potter, savior of the wizarding world. Conqueror of the Dark Lord. She was the daughter of two well-respected former death eaters that served Voldemort during the war, and even in his death. She was the disowned daughter of two repulsive creatures that called themselves human. How could you leave your own child because of a fucking belief? It pissed him off more than it should have.

So, despite his better judgment, the angel on his shoulder screaming no, he gave in. He let his lips graze her shoulder.

Pansy shivered. Harry Potter placing light kisses on the back of her shoulders and she could feel him turning her forward. And so, against everything she was taught, against her conscience, she let him.

He tasted like chicken broth and sweat and she felt his lips leave hers to remove his shirt. Of course, she'd seen him shirtless before, they were partners on a stakeout that'd been living together for a month. They'd seen each other naked before. Although, never like this. He never looked at her the way he did now and it was startling, and fierce, and beautiful because she didn't care if it was too cold in their bedroom to sleep naked if they were together. Pansy was so lost in thought she never realized she was in her underwear and sat straddling him on that shitty mattress from some muggle kept hearing a phrase repeat in her head as Harry flipped them over and began his descent between her thighs. _Let it happen, let it happen, let it happen..._

Maybe it was an act of rebellion. To disobey everything she'd been told, to have control for once in her life. Maybe it was because she simply needed a good shag. Merlin knows she hadn't had one in a good while. Or maybe, it was because she saw him as Harry. A man with old, round glasses that could take a trip to St. Mungo's and be done with lenses forever. A man that pushed his godson on the swings and read to him every night he could. A man that she'd learned to trust with her secrets.

But who knows? They only cared about the now, never bothering to mention the future.


End file.
